


When My Ship Comes Back Around

by Geonn



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Astronauts, Drunken Shenanigans, F/F, NASA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years ago, Tracy Finch was aboard the International Space Station. Now she's living in Seattle and working as a professor and still gasping to catch her breath. (originally posted as "Orbital")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As pickup lines went, it was hard to top. For a few years she had to find ways to prove she was telling the truth, but with the advent of smartphones she just let her mark do the work for her. Before the question had always led to her explaining who she was and hoping the woman paid attention to the news and had an attention span longer than a commercial break. But now she could just plant the seed and wait. Tonight’s mark was a Kiera Knightly look-alike, all wide doe eyes and pouty lips, tumbledown waves of brown-black hair covering her forehead and tickling her cheeks. The girl finally slid close enough to be heard over the music and asked what she did for a living.

“I’m an astronaut.”

The girl laughed, sipped her drink, said something about how that was a good one. 

“Mission Special Tracy Finch. STS-219.”

The girl had remarkable restraint, and remained on the stool until the current song was done playing. She got up in the half-second lull before the next one and shambled to the bathroom. Tracy watched her in the mirror and smiled when she saw the phone coming out of the back pocket of her jeans. She sipped her drink, the ice freezing against her top lip, and waited. The girl came back out three minutes later and resumed her seat.

“Holy shit. You really are an astronaut. You were up in space.”

“Seventeen days and eight hours.” She finished her drink and looked at the girl again. “Wanna get out of here?”

The girl had a Jeep parked outside, and Tracy fucked her in the backseat of it. There was nothing remarkable about it, just two women in search of an orgasm, but it was enjoyable enough. In the aftermath, trying to grab her clothes without looking too eager to escape. The girl - she’d said her name, but Tracy hadn’t bothered - traced the tattoo on her left arm. It showed a small yellow bird in flight around the moon. “This is badass. So badass. Did you go to the moon?”

“We don’t really go there anymore. I went to ISS.”

“Cool,” a word said so breathily it almost sounded like she was cooing. “Oh, hey. Like your name. Finch, and the bird.”

Tracy chuckled. “You’d be surprised how many people don’t get that.” She buttoned her shirt and leaned back to fasten her belt.

“Can I call you sometime?”

“Nah.” She leaned down and pecked the girl’s lips.

“But I thought we had fun.”

Tracy nodded. “We had a blast, lemon drop. I got exactly what I was after, and you did too. You can tell all your friends you fucked an astronaut. It’s a story.”

“I guess. But you are really hot.”

“Thanks, darling.” She bent down and kissed her one more time. “If we ever end up at another bar together, I wouldn’t count out a repeat performance. But don’t look for a relationship.”

The girl shrugged. “All right. Well, I guess I’ll keep an eye out for you, Commander.”

“I’m not a commander. Just a mission specialist.”

She got out of the Jeep before she put her jacket back on. She patted her pockets to make sure she hadn’t dropped her phone, keys, or wallet, and then walked out of the parking lot. She’d parked her truck on the street and, as she approached, the sticker in the back window caught her eye. It was a blue oval bordered with red and white, showing a shuttle rising up at a sharp angle. Behind it was a field of blue with the moon underneath. The symbolism was identical to her tattoo, with her namesake replacing the shuttle, and her name was at the five o’clock position on the outer border of the patch. WEIR ZEA DRAYER FINCH VANARIA LETERSKY UZIMANN. Four years ago she had climbed into a mobile home that had been set on its ass, strapped in, and waited while a bunch of kids who got picked on in high school detonated a bomb underneath them.

Odd how she didn’t consider that the dumbest thing she’d ever done.

She got into her truck and set off for home.

The girl in the bar’s confusion wasn’t unusual; most people didn’t recognize her immediately even if they were space buffs. Currently her black hair was cut short, but still long enough to give her bangs and cover her ears. Before being selected she’d worn her hair long enough to braid, but the thought of being on ISS with a tangle of seaweed swirling around her face did not appeal to her at all. She knew most female astronauts cut their hair short to avoid the necessity but she took it a step further; all of her official pictures showed a smiling woman with ice-blue eyes and a completely shaved head. 

These days she wore it shoulder-length, which seemed like enough of a disguise that people didn’t recognize her large dark eyes and the smile that a newspaper had once called “understated and sly.” She had no idea what was sly about her, but she was willing to go with it. She was petite and lithe, perfect for traversing the cluttered pipe-like hallways of the ISS. She once spent a tornado in a storm shelter, and the ISS had brought back memories of those harrowing moments. Cramped and crowded, but if anyone opened the door it would mean certain death to everyone inside.

She tossed her keys onto the counter and poured herself a glass of water to cut down on the intensity of tomorrow’s headache. She left the lights off as she drank, staring at her phone as she debated whether or not to remake her same old mistake. Finally she dialed the number and held the phone to her ear and listened to the buzz.

Twenty-three hundred miles to the south, Victoria Weir answered the call on the third ring. “Stop calling me.”

Tracy grimaced. Smartphones made it easier to pick up women, but much harder to make anonymous phone calls. “I miss you, Vic.”

“We’re not having this conversation. I’m not going to talk to you, Tracy.”

“Then hang up.”

There was silence on the other end, and for a moment she thought Vic had taken her up on the threat. Finally there was a sharp exhale, a surrender of breath. 

“Why do you do this to me?”

“Change your number. Free us both. You think I want to be in love with you?”

“Oh, for God’s sake. We both knew what this was when it started. I was just a point you were trying to make.”

Tracy leaned her hip against the counter. “Sure. That’s how it started, but I--”

“Don’t.”

“Vicky, please...”

“Don’t call me anymore. Please.”

“How is Christopher?”

There was another pause, another fear she had hung up. “We’re separated. The kids and I moved out a few weeks ago.”

“Oh.”

“That’s it? No celebration? You won. Congratulations.”

Tracy looked out the window. “This isn’t winning, Vic. Trust me.”

“Goodbye, Tracy. I mean it this time. Next time you call, I won’t answer.”

She started to say something, but she heard the click that indicated this time the call really had terminated. She closed her eyes and lowered the phone to look at the screen. She swept her thumb across the screen, went to the phone book, and let her finger hover over the contact info for Victoria Weir. It would save them all a lot of grief if she just got rid of the number and tried to move on. She put down the phone with the dangerous number still loaded. She would delete it next time she was sober, when she knew she wouldn’t regret the decision.

#

Christopher Weir was the commander of STS-219, her superior, and the self-styled god of ISS. There were times she and other officers had caught him staring out the porthole at Earth and knew he was having delusions of grandeur, that sometimes he seemed to believe his joke about being a supreme being. He was mostly able to keep his ego in check during crunch time, and he had yet to fail his crew when the going got tough. But they still kept a wary eye on their own personal Clark Kent, waiting for the moment when he tore open his shirt to reveal all he had on underneath was a T-shirt.

They finished the mission without incident, and returned to Earth after seventeen days. Nearly three weeks orbiting the planet, seeing things the majority of people would never get a chance to see. Commander Weir invited the crew over to his house for a barbeque the week after they got back. That was the afternoon she met Victoria, her commanding officer’s wife and the mother of his towhead son and daughter. Chris hadn’t done anything in particular that required her revenge, he hadn’t earned her ire through any great gesture of imbecility. But she still felt his ego had taken up far too much room on the station, and she became determined to take him down a peg.

She became determined to seduce his wife.

Everyone at the party asked if they could rub her head, a good-luck ritual the other astronauts had picked up before launch. She indulged them all, but she waited until she was alone in the kitchen with Victoria before offering to let her do it. She bent her head forward, and Victoria tentatively smoothed her palm over the dome. 

“That feels so peculiar. It’s nice, though.”

“Clark warned me I would start a trend. I hope so. Bald women are beautiful.”

Victoria smiled. “Well, you certainly manage to pull it off. What was it like being the only woman up there? It must have been pretty uncomfortable.”

“No, it was fine. You know that saying, ‘just one of the guys’? It’s not like that. It’s pretty androgynous up there in terms of how you get treated. As long as you can do the job it doesn’t matter.”

“It’s strange that ‘up there’ can seem so far away but when Chris is up there... it’s like it’s just around the corner. But still... so far away.”

Tracy smiled. “I know what you mean. Especially with all the advances in technology. I can get phone calls up there, but I used to go hiking in places with no cell reception. I’m more reachable when I’m orbiting the planet than I am when I’m a few miles out in the woods.”

“Oh, I’m jealous. I used to love hiking.”

It was something Chris had brought up a few times during their quarantine pre-launch, and Tracy shrugged nonchalantly. “Next time I go out, I’ll give you a call. We can make an afternoon of it.”

“That would be amazing. If you’re sure I wouldn’t cramp your style.”

“No, not at all. My only regret is there aren’t woods or hills the way there are in Oregon and Washington down here. But needs must, right?”

That had been the beginning of it. A few hikes as friends, camping overnight. Vic knew that Tracy was gay, but it was a fact that remained unspoken between them. On one of their camping trips they got drunk enough that Vic admitted she had thought about experimenting in college but she’d never gotten up the nerve. Tracy suggested showing her what all the fuss was about, and they’d had a good drunken laugh over the possibility. A few more drinks, a repeat of the offer, and this time Vic had been less capable of thinking through her decisions. The kiss was more laughter than passion, but soon Tracy had Vic lying on top of their sleeping bag, groping her through the double-layer of clothes she was wearing.

“Wait, wait,” she whispered. 

Tracy had sat up and slipped her hand under Vic’s shirt. “Remember what I said? Out here we’re farther away than the space station. Out here, it’s just you and me.” She pecked Tracy’s top lip and swept her tongue along her bottom lip. Victoria whimpered helplessly, squirming on the ground under Tracy’s assault, eyes squeezed tightly shut as Tracy moved her hand higher over the smooth plain of her stomach. She moved her lips to Vic’s neck and sucked.

“Oh, fuck.”

Tracy lifted her head and kissed Vic’s ear. “Tell me you want it.”

“I... I-I...”

“You have to say it or I’ll stop.”

Vic gasped, “Please don’t stop.”

“Then sa--”

“Fuck me, Tracy.”

Tracy undressed her commander’s wife and took her time, going down on her until she was right on the edge of orgasm before she pulled away. She ran her tongue over Vic’s stomach, sucked her nipples while simultaneously stroking her inner thighs to keep the fire stoked. When she felt it was safe to continue she dropped down again and Victoria cried out as the assault continued. In the end, Tracy remained fully clothed as she spent a full hour pushing Victoria to the edge before pulling her back. When Victoria was finally allowed her climax she was so weak that her cries were quietly croaked as she swept her hands over the sleeping bag, too weak to even grip it.

Afterward Tracy lay next to her, occasionally licking her lips. Victoria was quiet and withdrawn, finally looking at Tracy. Tracy looked back at her without saying anything.

“That can’t happen again. It was amazing, but it can never happen again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Two weeks later Victoria was at Tracy’s apartment, dragging Tracy’s jeans down so she could finally repay the favor. They made love in a proper bed for the first time on their third meeting. Tracy was fonder of the rushed and sneaky meetings. Tracy took her to the movies and began fingering her as soon as the lights went down. Victoria came before the trailers were finished running.

Their affair lasted for just over a year. They became bolder and, naturally, more reckless. One afternoon they were fucking in the kitchen when they heard the rumble of the garage door. Tracy scurried out onto the back porch with her clothes bundled against her chest, while Victoria threw on an apron and pretended she had planned a surprise dinner for her dear husband. Tracy was still pulling on her jeans under the window when she heard Christopher say he wasn’t hungry and begin assaulting the body Tracy had just been claiming as hers.

When Christopher discovered the affair, he tracked Tracy down in a bar and punched her in the face without preamble. She went down and he followed her, pinning her to the floor and punching her again. Someone tried to pull him off, urging him to take it easy. He laughed and said, “Women want equal treatment, right? This is how I’d treat any asshole who was fucking my wife.”

Someone made the mistake of laughing, and Christopher turned his rage on them. The guy’s friends defended the new victim, and Tracy managed to get away from them. When the dust settled, Christopher was slapped with a disciplinary hearing. He kept quiet when asked what had prompted the brawl; through his anger, he was still a man who wouldn’t out a fellow astronaut for being gay. He only said that someone in the fight had been screwing his wife, but he didn’t name names. Infidelity was still a pretty big deal, and he was honorable to that point at least.

Tracy thought she’d gotten off easy until she got home one night and discovered her bed stripped and a variety of bodily fluids soaking the mattress. The message was clear.

She stayed at Johnson Space Center for a few more months, just to prove she wasn’t running with her tail between her legs, and Christopher managed to keep his distance. There were a few more instances of her coming home to odd smells and more than a few items in her fridge had been tossed for fear of tampering, but they never came to blows again. Victoria Weir became a ghost, visible but unreachable. Occasionally Tracy called her from payphones, and Victoria would answer.

“Hello? Hello... who is this?”

The calls never lasted long, and more often than not they ended with a quick and whispered, “You have to stop doing this,” but Tracy was surprised to discover she couldn’t. What had started as a game, a way to poke Christopher in the ribs by one-upping him, had spiraled out of control. She found herself missing Victoria, aching for her in a way she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. She tried to duplicate their makeshift relationship by going out to bars, finding straight women, and then getting them drunk enough to leave with her. She fucked a half-dozen straight women and called it popping their cherry. Still, none of them took her over the way Victoria had.

Eventually she admitted defeat. She resigned from NASA and relocated to Seattle. There was a marine biology lab on an island nearby, and her oceanography degree qualified her for a position as professor. She settled in to her new life and hardly ever thought about Victoria, unless she was sitting in a dark room with some liquid courage, dialing her number as she cursed at herself for falling back into bad habits. It had been four years since she was in space and she was still trying to get used to how gravity would pull and paw at her until she fell flat on the floor. She continued to go out and get straight women drunk so she could fuck them. On Wednesdays and Fridays she took the ferry out to Squire’s Isle to teach her class, and the rest of the time she spent filling empty hours so she wouldn’t think about the woman she’d left behind in Texas.

She found alcohol filled the hours wonderfully.


	2. Chapter 2

“ _You’re not so great, you know._ ”

Tracy paused what she was doing, lifting her eyes before she stiffly turned her head. The tone was light enough even through the speakers in her helmet that she wasn’t offended, only confused. “ _Say again?_ ” 

Dr. Leila Shirazi drifted into view, smiling through the dome of her helmet. She lifted one puffy hand and gestured over her shoulder at the massive planet hanging behind them.

“ _Stop looking down on everyone._ ”

Tracy laughed. “ _There’s no down in space, Dr. Shirazi. Technically I’m looking over at them. But just in case that was an admonishment to keep my eyes on my work, duly noted._ ”

“ _Who can blame you? Me, I work in a lab without windows because I get too distracted by birds and trees. How am I supposed to concentrate with this outside my window?_ ”

Tracy stood on a platform at the end of the robotic arm, like a maestro preparing to conduct the grandest symphony ever conceived. They were currently above the South China Sea, from Tracy’s perspective currently between the two landmasses of Malaysia with Vietnam to the north. It was her third day on the station, and far below she could see the line between day and night. Considering its position, she thought it was right on the cusp of the International Date Line. 

Her eyes opened as she thought, “A new day begins,” reaching for her phone just as the alarm began to chirp. She shut it off, sat up, and put her feet on the floor so she could feel the gravity, her hands flat on the edge of the bed. She swayed a little, once more getting used to the weight of the world pulling her down. Some people had dreams about flying and twitched when they woke up. She dreamed about actual weightlessness and could sometimes barely stand up afterward.

She got to her feet and into the shower, wondering how astronauts who spent significant time on the station could ever adjust to weighted life. She had spent five hours and forty minutes outside of the safety of ISS, an insignificantly tiny portion of her life, and yet sometimes she felt like her body would never quite acclimate to the way things had been before. She yearned to go back, but she knew the chances were unlikely even if she was still in NASA. Too many astronauts, not enough money, not enough missions, not enough of anything.

It was still dark outside after she showered and dressed, walking through the darkness to her bicycle. She looked up at the sky, slowing down so she could watch for movement high above her. Something glanced off the atmosphere - space junk, debris, a rock that would burn up before it passed through to impact anywhere - and she followed its trajectory just in case. When she finally tore her gaze off the sky, she climbed onto her bike and rode it out onto the empty streets of Anacortes. She kept a tiny apartment in town for those mornings when she had to catch the ferry, and she ended up spending half her nights there instead of her much more expensive place in Seattle. Her finances were screaming about the dual habitation, and she knew that if she had to give up one domicile it would be Seattle. But damn, she would miss the nightlife. Still, the occasional hotel would be easier on her pocketbook than paying rent twice a month.

The sun was just coming up when she boarded the ferry, and she went out onto the deck and hugged herself against the cold. Part of it was wanting to wake up but she truly did love the cool air. Even in winter the deck was almost too cold for most people to bear. She loved the cold; it reminded her of diving, which reminded her of EVA, which took her back to space if only for a moment. She rested her arms on the railing and looked out over the water.

The ocean had been her first frontier, her first true love. When she was six, her mother had taken her and her sister out to a lake. It was there, with arm floaties as big as her head and a pair of goggles that almost covered her entire face, she discovered there was a whole world underneath the water. Fish and seaweed and strange rock formations. The way dirt kicked up and spun around weightless, the way the surface of the water distorted everything. That moment of submersion was life-changing. 

From there it was just a short skip to wondering what was above the second surface of our planet. She knew what was under the sea, but what was above the sky? And what was the atmosphere but a surface that had to be penetrated in order to see an entirely unique and unknown environment. During her tenure on her college newspaper she had drawn a comic strip of fish-tronauts, two salmon in space suits drifting over the surface of a lake. The caption read: “Just as we’ve always thought: no signs of intelligent life in outer space.”

After graduation, she applied to NASA almost as a lark. She was still surprised she’d gotten in, even more surprised a few years later when she was told she’d been selected to go up. A year of intensive training and then she finally hitched a ride on the maiden voyage of the new shuttle _Icarus_. She remembered being strapped in and smiling when Leila joked, “Who names a shuttle _Icarus_? Didn’t they actually read the myth?”

Commander Weir said, “It sounds good and it’s something people have actually heard of. Just be glad they didn’t name it... ah. Be glad they didn’t...” He sighed. “If I was cleverer I would have had a really funny alternate name ready.”

Pilot Simon Zea said, “Good to know they didn’t choose you for your brains.”

The joking stopped when it was time for the countdown, and Tracy kept her eyes open as much as possible so she would be completely present for the transition from safety to the unknowable. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Weir said, taking a pause as their trajectory stabilized. “Welcome to outer space.”

On the ferry, she reached up and touched the tattoo under her sleeve. She’d gotten it after she retired, a memento of the most amazing adventure she’d ever had. She wanted to get the tattoo immediately after the patch design was finalized, but Leila talked her out of it. There were no official rules about astronauts having tattoos, but it was better to err on the side of caution rather than risk being pulled for a silly oversight. Once she was a private citizen there was nothing holding her back.

She walked her bike off the ferry when it arrived on Squire’s Isle, and she had enough time before her class began to do a quick two-mile ride around the perimeter of the town. When she finished she stopped at Coffee Table Books and lingered over a cup of coffee and a banana nut muffin. She wished for a flask so she could “Irish up” the coffee, but she was also glad she didn’t have the opportunity. She never drank before a class. It was a small rule and easily kept, but sometimes she had to remember the reasons in order to find the willpower.

The thought of willpower made her remember the vow to delete Victoria’s name from her phone. She took it out of her pocket, stared at the screen, and tapped her fingers against the back of the device.

“Waiting for a call?”

She jumped and looked up at the woman who had materialized next to her table. The woman from behind the counter, a cute brunette in a pink shirt and tan pants. She was holding a carafe of coffee.

“Oh. Uh, thank you, I’m fine. And... sort of. Not really.” She put the phone down.

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

The woman wandered to the next table and Tracy looked at her phone. She would delete it after class. She always had a clearer head after class, soothed by the science and the sharing of knowledge. She loved her students and the wonder they held at the world just under the water. She sipped her coffee and watched the people pass by the window. She would definitely delete Victoria’s number from her phone after class but before boarding the ferry to go home.

#

Tracy tried to figure out where she went wrong. Somewhere between the lab and the ferry dock, she’d found a bar. And in that bar were alcoholic drinks. She was given the drinks in exchange for cash, and she made the trade many times before she attempted to ride her bike to the ferry docks. She missed her ride home, so she went back to the bar to have a few more drinks while she waited for the next opportunity. By the time she got onto the boat to go home, she remembered she had Victoria’s number but she’d forgotten what she was supposed to do with it. So she called it.

A screeching three-tone alarm stabbed her in the ear, and she winced as she pulled the phone away. “We’re sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.”

Tracy stared out the window, phone to her ear, as she tried to process the information through the haze of her drinking. She disconnected and dialed the number again, as if somehow being drunk had caused the autodial on her phone to malfunction. She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat as she brought the phone back up to her ear and winced as the shrill tones once again assaulted her. “We’re sorry,” the voice from 1950 chirped.

She knew that if she caused a scene, security would be notified and she’d be up shit creek. So she turned off her phone and put it into her bag, leaned far forward to cross her arms over her knees, and rested her head on top of them. She was bent almost entirely in half, a position she’d discovered in training, and the tension it created in her gut was exactly what she needed. She remained in that position until the ferry arrived back at Anacortes. She walked her bike off, still feeling woozy and lightheaded, but her anger and sadness clarified her thoughts enough that she was willing to risk riding home.

Later on she didn’t remember the ride or the impact, but she had a very clear memory of waking up when the EMT was putting her in the back of the ambulance. She saw the sedan with one broken headlight and asked him if he knew what kind of car it was. When he told her it was a Saturn, she remembered laughing until she lost consciousness again.

It was just so fucking appropriate.


	3. Chapter 3

Luck was with her in several ways on the night she went to the hospital. Despite the very fact she was hit by a car and suffered broken leg, sprained wrists, and minor-but-needing-observation head injuries, things could have been much worse for her. The car had been slowing down for an intersection when it hit her, and her forward momentum was enough to spin her onto a grass median. She had been wearing her helmet, something she didn’t recall doing, and that saved her from truly serious injury. A doctor in the emergency room commended her use of safety gear, and apparently in a fog she told him that she was an astronaut. She did remember him smiling indulgently and patting her arm before walking away to check on another patient.

The recuperation was hard, not no harder than training had been. She walked on crutches for a while but she was more irritated by the well-wishers and cards that came every day in the mail. She kept everything from her old crew - she got something from everyone but Commander Weir, naturally - and tossed the rest after a cursory examination. She had her truck so she could still get to and from work, but driving meant that she couldn’t stop and get drunk. She had to get drunk in the privacy of her own home, and that felt a little too “rock-bottom” for her. So she was mostly sober for the weeks she couldn’t ride her bike, getting by on six-packs she picked up from the corner store.

The first day she was able, she rode her new bike to the nearest bar and proceeded to shut it down. The beautiful blonde bartender gave her a ride home and was gracious enough to accept a few fumbling gropes in the backseat as repayment. She slowly built up the strength necessary for her rides to and from the ferry, and soon she was back on her normal schedule. She took extra care when approaching intersections, but otherwise she only lost a few weeks of her routine to the incident.

Her sister called her from Memphis every couple of months, and she was livid when Tracy subtly dropped the fact of her recuperation in the rundown of recent ailments.

“Whoa, hold up. Why were you in the hospital?”

“I told Mom.”

“No, you didn’t, because Mom would have told me. And you know she would have panicked and flown up there, so I know you didn’t tell Mom. What happened?”

Tracy rolled her eyes and told her.

“Were you drunk?”

“I was on my bicycle, Connie.”

“That doesn’t matter. Bicycles are a vehicle. Did the cops come?”

Tracy said, “They investigated, but there aren’t any laws about biking under the influence. The cop who talked to me said the worst they would have done is impounded my bike, but they wouldn’t fine me for getting it back. It’s fine.”

“It’s really not fine. What if it had been a truck or an SUV?”

“It wasn’t.”

“It could be next time.”

Tracy sighed.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.”

“Ooh. You mean like a grown-up?”

Connie said, “Well, you are acting like a child.”

“If a child was drinking on her bike, yes, that would be a problem.”

Connie growled. “You’re an infuriating bitch.”

“I love you, too, baby sister.”

They said their goodbyes and Tracy went into the kitchen. She was wearing her NASA T-shirt and navy blue shorts; she wasn’t just an adult, she was an adult who had been to space. If she wanted to have a drink, she could damn well be trusted to have a drink. And getting hit by a car was... that was just the law of probability. Number of bikes on the road combined with the number of vehicles, add in the increased traffic around the city center, it was just a matter of time before two of them collided. Her drinking had nothing to do with it. In fact, drinking had probably limbered her up enough and slowed her reflexes to the point where she hadn’t tensed up. 

She opened the fridge and took out a beer. “Thank you, alcohol, for keeping me in one piece. As much as possible.” She used the bottle opener under the counter to pop the top and carried it into the living room to drain it before bed. She dropped onto the couch, her feet up on the arm, and rested the curved bottom of the bottle on her stomach. From her relaxed position she could see out the window, past the pointed tops of the trees, to the stars. Somewhere out there, four men and two women were crushed together in the ISS, going around the world once every ninety minutes. She held up the bottle in salute to them, then took a drink.

“Get home safely. We’ll be waiting for you down here when you get back home.”

A few hours later she woke up, drained the bottle, and headed to the bedroom for the rest of the night. She sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the lamp, squinting at the brightness. She set the alarm on her phone and, after an unknowable length of deliberation, found a number and dialed it. She turned it on speaker so she didn’t have to put the phone against her head. She tried to calculate what time it was in Florida, but the call was answered before she came up with an answer.

“Mellow. Mm. I mean hello.”

“God, how late is it there? I’m sorry.”

“It’s...” There was a rustling of bedclothes. “Finch? Is that you?”

Tracy smiled. “Long time no talk-to. How have you been, Leila?”

“Good. I’m good. Um. Wow. Tracy Finch.” The name was spoken away from the phone, and she assumed someone in Leila’s bed had asked who was calling. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been well. You?”

“Good. Finch, why are you calling now? I mean, not that I’m anything but elated to hear your voice, but it really is the middle of the night.”

Tracy winced again. “Sorry. I was just wondering if you had Commander Weir’s number. The one I have isn’t working and I needed to discuss some stuff with him.”

A long silence. Leila said something to her partner, there was another rustle of blankets, and then she spoke in a soft voice. “Finch, we all knew. We kept it quiet for your career and her reputation, but come on. We knew what you did with Vic. If the number doesn’t work, it’s because they don’t want it to work. They... _She_ is trying to put you in the past.”

Tracy’s face burned. “Oh.”

“None of us are going to give you her number, okay? So just forget it, go to bed, and sleep it off.”

“Sleep what off?”

Leila sighed. “Finch, we knew about a lot of things. You’re drunk right now. You’re pinching the ends of your words, you’re controlling your breath... you’re drunk and you want to call Vic, but just let her go. Let yourself go, too. You’re better than chasing after some straight woman who wants nothing to do with you.”

Tracy sniffed, her embarrassment turning to anger. “Sorry I woke you up, Leila.”

“Finch... Tracy, don’t be like this.”

“Sorry.” She hung up and barely resisted the urge to hurl the phone across the room. She tossed it at the foot of the bed, then leaned forward and rested her head in her hands. The whole team knew her business. They’d known back at JSC, and they had just kept quiet. Laughed at her behind her back. She was the resident joke. She stood up and walked back through her dark house, opened the fridge, and popped the top off another beer. She stood awash in the light of the fridge door as she drank it, eyes closed as she tilted the bottle back.

If they were going to consider her the team boozer, she was damn sure going to earn the title.

#

The teacher was extremely pregnant, but she moved gracefully as a dancer as she opened the door and ushered Tracy inside. “Okay, everyone. Listen up.” The students’ conversation slowed as Mrs. Hood-Colby stood in front of them. “Since we’ve been talking about space the past few days, I thought we would take the opportunity to have a real-life astronaut stop by and talk with us. I’ll let her introduce herself, because I’m sure I’ll screw it up if I try to do it myself.”

Tracy smiled and tried not to feel unnerved by the ten- and eleven-year-olds looking at her. She was dressed in her usual slacks and a button-down shirt under a blazer, but now she was wondering if she should have put on the flight suit buried somewhere in the back of her closet. 

“Hi. My name is, um, Tracy Finch. I was a mission specialist on STS-219, which went up to the International Space Station about four years ago. I have a degree in oceanography, and ah... I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you guys ask the questions. One thing you’ll learn about astronauts is that we’re not very good at leading conversations.” She looked at the teacher, who had retreated to a chair that looked insanely comfortable; one benefit of being pregnant, she guessed. “Good job picking the speaker, Mrs. Hood-Colby.”

She smiled. “You’ll do great. Does anyone have any questions for Ms. Finch? Or... is it Dr. Finch?”

“No, no. I don’t have a PhD. Just Tracy is fine.” One student had her hand up, so Tracy pointed to her. “Yes, you have a question?”

“What did you do on the space station?”

“My main task was hooking up cables for heating and to transfer data from one node to another. I got to do that from outside, so I was dressed in the whole Stay Puft Marshmallow Man outfit.” She looked at their blank faces. “The, uh, Stay Puft... _Ghostbusters_? No one?” She glanced at the teacher for help. “It wasn’t that long ago, was it? That movie’s a classic.”

“These kids delight in letting us know just how old we are. They were born in this millennium.”

“Dear God,” Tracy said, which made the kids laugh. “Okay. No more cultural references from the eighties, I promise. So I got to do the spacewalk, which was just spectacular. Yes?” She pointed to another raised hand.

“What’s it like to be in space?”

Tracy said, “It’s an entirely different... you’re weightless, and there’s nothing exerting force on you at all. We tend to ignore things like gravity and physics to the point where, when they’re gone, it’s kind of hard to function. The first few days I was up there it took me forty-five minutes just to put on my socks in the morning. If you bump a wall, or if you lean too far forward, that’s it. You’re tumbling and spinning. That’s bad enough, but tumbling when there’s no real up or down...? Let me tell you, you’ve never been that dizzy.”

The kids laughed and Tracy felt her apprehension lifting as she took the next question. “Crackers, cookies, nuts. We had vegetables, too. Mostly rehydrated stuff, which is a lot better than it sounds. No, no Tang that I remember.” She kept her arms behind her back except when she was gesturing to a student or using her hands to speak. “Six others on my mission, and then three Russian cosmonauts were already up there. No, I don’t speak Russian, but I did pick up a few curse words. No, no, I will not. Next?” She glanced toward the clock as much as she’d expected to, but not for the reasons she’d feared. Mrs. Hood-Colby had given her twenty-five minutes, and the time seemed to be flying by.

Mrs. Hood-Colby said, “I have a question, if you don’t mind.”

“Please.”

“I’ve heard that astronauts have their loved ones back on Earth pick out songs for them as wake-up calls. What was yours?”

Tracy smiled. “My sister chose ‘Land Among the Stars’ by Radiation Canary.”

“Excellent choice,” the teacher said. “We’ve got time for one more question.”

Tracy chose one of the kids at the back who hadn’t been raising her hand before but now seemed to do it with some reluctance. “Yes?”

“Are there going to be any more astronauts? I heard NASA is all shut down.”

“Right. Yes, at the moment it’s a tough time for NASA. But there are still people dedicated to the science, and determined to get back up there one day. If there are enough people pushing for it, and enough kids like you getting into the sciences and becoming qualified, we’ll have no choice but to build it back up. And there are private firms like SpaceX that are making big strides in the field. One of my team members is working for them now down in Florida. Maybe one day NASA will be a relic, remembered as the way we got there in the first place, but private companies will be the ones taking people to space like United or American Airlines fly us across the country. It doesn’t matter what the structure is, as long as we have dedicated people we’ll never be cut off from space.”

Mrs. Hood-Colby smiled. “I think that’s an excellent place to end it. Thank you for taking the time to come see us today, Tracy. Oh, wasn’t there something--”

She had nearly forgotten. “Right!” She reached into the inner pocket of her blazer. “I have NASA stickers. I’m sure that’s thrilling considering what I just said about the whole relic thing, but they’re still pretty cool, I think.” She passed them out and gave the final one to the teacher. “I have some more for the second class.”

“Excellent. Thank you so much for agreeing to do this.”

“It’s my pleasure. Usually when I’m on the island I go from the ferry to the labs and then back again. Waiting for the next class will give me a chance to sightsee a little.”

“Good, good. I’m glad it’s worth your while.”

Tracy looked toward the back of the class, where the girl who asked about the future of space travel was examining her sticker with a keen interest. 

“It was. I think it was very much worth my time. I’ll see you in about three hours?”

“Yeah, that should be fine. Thank you again. Everyone, thank Ms. Finch.”

They clapped for her as she bashfully made her exit, stuffing her hands into her pockets as she walked down the hall toward the exit. The elementary school was a few blocks from downtown, close enough to be convenient but far enough away that the tourists didn’t stumble over it. Tracy couldn’t imagine living in a place with a constant flow of outsiders arriving on a fixed schedule, dumped out and let loose on the little hamlet like a swarm of insects.

She really did want to see the sights, but there was a place called Smooth Glass Bar & Grill just down the street. She had never gone in but she really liked the carved wooden shingle hanging out front. She could grab some lunch and maybe have a few drinks before she went back to the school for her second presentation.


	4. Chapter 4

She thought the second go-round went better than the first, as she was more relaxed and comfortable with the prospect of standing up and talking about herself. The only odd thing was when Mrs. Hood-Colby took the stickers from her and took it upon herself to pass them out. She said goodbye to the kids and this time the teacher escorted her out into the hallway and shut the door behind her. “Thanks again for coming, Tracy.”

“It was my pleasure.”

Mrs. Hood-Colby rubbed her lips together, looking a bit tense as she worked over what she was going to say. “Everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine. Why?”

“Did you have a drink with lunch?”

Tracy frowned. “Yeah. Uh... I had a beer.”

“Just one?” Tracy started to protest, but Mrs. Hood-Colby cut her off. “I can smell it on your breath. You were far enough away from the kids, and I doubt they would know what they were smelling anyway, but I thought it was for the best. Are you okay to get home? I could give you a ride after class lets out.”

“I’m fine,” Tracy said, keeping her voice flat and firm. “I’m on my bike.”

Mrs. Hood-Colby didn’t seem particularly comforted by that, but she nodded. “Okay. Well. Thank you for coming by. You were fine for the second group, I don’t want you to think you did anything untoward, it’s just that it’s obvious to me you’re inebriated.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad. Just a little liquid courage.”

“I understand. And I would love to have you back again sometime. Just maybe skip the spirits when you take your lunch break next time.”

Tracy tossed off a sloppy salute. “Message received, Teach. I’ll keep it in mind for next time.”

“Thanks. And thank you for coming. It meant a lot to all of them, but especially to Sarah. You may have inspired an astronaut in there.”

Tracy pushed away from the wall and started down the hall toward the exit with a sardonic smile. “If that’s true, one day I might have you apologize to her for me.”

#

She loved the dance. She fucking _lived_ for the dance. It always started in one of Seattle’s bars, on one of the evenings she was sleeping there instead of in Anacortes. She took up a position at the bar - not a gay bar; the only women she’d find there would defeat the purpose - and kept her eye out for the perfect one to cut away from the herd. She was predatory about it, there was no way she couldn’t be, but she made herself feel better about it by acknowledging she’d always take no for an answer. Then again, there was a difference between “I don’t want to” and “I really shouldn’t.”

Her women were always by themselves, drinking at the bar because tables and booths had too many empty seats to fill. To sit alone was to invite the question “Is anyone sitting here?” She would be focused on her drink and politely rebuffing all attempts to strike up a conversation. Contrary to her silence, she would occasionally look to her left or her right as if waiting for someone. Most nights Tracy tried to be that woman.

Her perfect girl was a redhead, but she wasn’t too picky on that score. As long as she fit the other criteria she would do. At the moment she was in luck, because there was a redhead eight feet away from her exhibiting all the signs of ending up in Tracy’s bed within a few hours. She was dressed in a blazer over a low-cut top that showed a professional amount of cleavage, and she had just enough curve to be considered rubenesque. Tracy finished her drink and moved down the bar, slipping into the empty slot next to her prey just before another frat boy with a terminally retarded maturity could take it.

“Hi. Sorry, you looked like you could use a break from those guys.” She signaled to the bartender, indicating another drink for her new friend. 

“Thanks. And thanks for the drink. You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s fine. But I didn’t mean to be presumptuous. If you were just being selective, I could leave the stool free...”

“No! Please. I just wanted to get a drink, be around people. But it’s like diving into a pool of piranhas in here.”

Tracy grinned. “Yeah, they can come on a bit strong. I’m Tracy.”

“Brenda.”

“You know, if you want...” She looked down at the glasses the bartender had sat down, chuckling softly as if dismissing her thought. “You know what, no.”

“What?”

“Well. I was just thinking that if you wanted the guys to leave you alone, you could always pretend you’ve made your choice already. You could pretend I’m hitting on you.”

Brenda laughed self-consciously. “I’m not gay.”

“That’s all right. We’re just going to dissuade them so you can get a little relief.” She picked up the new glass and held it up for her. “You probably came in here to de-stress and relax after a long day. You can’t do that if you’re constantly deflecting guys. So let me be your beard. At worst you get an hour or so of friendly conversation.”

“Can’t beat that.” She took her drink and offered a toast. “To actually relaxing.”

“Hear, hear.” They touched glasses and each took a drink.

Phase one, complete.

After one glass was killed and a second had been ordered, they began exchanging their stories. Brenda was an accountant for a law firm downtown, “keeping the numbers for the dullest people on the planet,” she called it. Tracy decided to forgo her usual line and just say that she was an Earth Sciences professor without the backstory. She was grateful for the nights “astronaut” cut through all the bullshit and got her to bed, but tonight she needed a true victory. “Astronaut” was... Indiana Jones shooting the swordsman instead of engaging him in a fight. She didn’t want an easy out, she wanted the battle even if it meant losing.

“The sharks are circling. I may have just compounded our problem.” She turned on her stool, her knee bumping against Brenda’s. “We may need to get a little flirtatious if we want to keep them away. If you’re not comfortable with that...”

“No, it’s... fine. I guess.” She took another sip of her drink and touched her tongue to her top lip. She put her hand on Tracy’s leg and stroked upward, resisting a nervous chuckle when she squeezed. “Wow. You’re buff for a professor.”

“I ride a bike to work most days.”

“Wow. Very muscular. I like it.”

“Thank you. Here, lean toward me.” Brenda did, and Tracy pressed her lips to the curtain of hair covering her ear. “Now we’ll pretend I’m whispering something seductive to you. Something like... you’re so gorgeous I just couldn’t resist coming over here to see you. How sexy you sound. How much I like the way your hair brushes against my cheek... and how I want to feel it brushing over other parts of me.”

“Hoo,” Brenda said softly.

“Stuff like that.” 

“I-I think I can fake a reaction to that. Lordy.”

Tracy smiled and saw that Brenda’s cheeks were bright red, matching her hair. Her eyes were green, and her hand was stll on Tracy’s thigh.

“Let’s get another drink, huh?”

Brenda furrowed her brow. “Mm. Hum. Um. I don’t know...”

“Yeah.” She lifted two fingers and the bartender nodded that he’d seen. “It’s okay. Just one more little drink.”

“People are really staring at us now.”

“But they’re staying away. They know we’re a lost cause. They’ll move on to easier prey because they can tell you’re all mine. At least as far as they know.”

The bartender put down their drinks. Brenda took her hand off Tracy’s thigh to take it, throwing the whole thing back in a single swallow. Tracy laughed and drank half of hers, patting Brenda on the back as she coughed.

“That’s it, wild woman. Come on. We’re going to dance.”

“Dance...?”

“You’re not going to get rid of all this stress just drinking. Trust me, I know.” She took Brenda’s hand, linked their fingers, and pulled her out onto the dance floor. They faced each other and Tracy moved in close, her hands on the small of Brenda’s back under the tail of her blazer. Brenda mimicked the move out of habit and muscle memory, finding the small of Tracy’s back under her leather jacket. They moved to the music, rocking their hips from side to side to the pounding beat of some Black Keys song. Brenda had the glassy, distracted look of the inebriated and Tracy moved her head to force her new friend to focus on her face.

“Doing okay, sweetheart?”

Brenda gave an exaggerated nod and then widened her eyes. “I’m not usually this lightweighted. Lightweight. I don’t drink too much.”

“That’s all right. You’re doing just fine.” She moved her hands so that their hips met, and Brenda looked down before she looked at the crowd around them. “Everyone’s staring.”

“Because we’re hot.”

Brenda laughed, tipsy and easily amused, and then faced forward again. She seemed to sober a bit when she looked into Tracy’s eyes, and Tracy held her gaze. It was the moment of truth, and she knew her plan would succeed or fail in the next few seconds.

“Think you’re about ready to go?”

A slow nod.

“Okay. I’ll settle the bill and then walk you out so no one gets any ideas. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Wait... let me give you some cash.”

“No, it’s on me.”

She went to the bar and handed over a fifty, then returned to Brenda. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you to your car.”

She hooked her arm around Brenda’s elbow and guided her outside. Phase two was in progress, and it involved risking complete failure. She had controlled the flow of alcohol and she had it down to a science: she needed to lower inhibitions without compromising judgment to the point where the morality got sketchy. Brenda pointed her to a nondescript red Ford parked near a security light, a sign that Brenda was cautious and sensible.

When they reached the car, Brenda slipped away from Tracy and stepped in front of her. “I had a really nice time in there. Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“No problem. Someone pretty as you probably would have had to waste your whole night fending off unwanted advances. You deserve a chance to just enjoy a drink without all the testosterone.”

“Well, the estrogen wasn’t so bad.”

Tracy chuckled and brushed a stray curl away from her cheek. “Thanks for showing me a good time tonight.” She bent down and brushed her lips against Brenda’s cheek, finding a spot just close enough to the corner of her mouth to plant the idea in Brenda’s mind. Brenda’s lips parted and she drew in a short, quick breath before letting it out in a nervous huff. She had constricted around herself, trying to back up without actually backing away as she dipped her chin. Tracy raised her other hand to cup Brenda’s face and then softly kissed her lips.

Brenda reached up and gently pushed Tracy away. “Whoa. Uh... wow... I’ve n-never kissed a woman before. Wow. Um.”

“It’s not so different from men.”

“But the other stuff, the next stuff, the... hoo. The ‘more’ stuff... that’s a lot different.”

“Are you interested in the... ‘more’ stuff?” She picked up Brenda’s hand to bring it to her mouth. She brushed the index finger across her bottom lip and eased her tongue out to moisten the tip before closing her lips around it. She sucked gently and watched Brenda’s face, her foggy eyes wide as she focused on her finger surrounded by soft red lips. “Because I would definitely be willing to do a lot more if you were.”

“I am so drunk.”

“Liquid courage,” Tracy said, remembering her conversation with Mrs. Hood-Colby outside the classroom. “You’re so beautiful. I’d like to kiss you again.”

Brenda swallowed hard and said, “Yeah.”

It was confirmation enough. Tracy leaned her back against the side of her car, and this time Brenda gave herself over to the kiss entirely. She put her arms around Tracy, under her jacket and over her shirt, as Tracy pinned her against the car. She eased her tongue into Brenda’s mouth and pulled back to see if she would follow. When she did, Tracy smiled and kissed her before pulling back.

“My place is about a mile from here.”

Brenda’s face was flush, quickly turning bright pink in the security light. “Mine is closer.”

Tracy grinned. 

On to phase three.


	5. Chapter 5

Tracy parked on the street to facilitate a fast getaway in the morning, and Brenda was waiting for her by the front door as she walked up the driveway. In the shadow of the eaves, Tracy kissed her again just to gauge Brenda’s reaction now that she’d had a few minutes to sober up on the drive over. She responded eagerly, clutching the lapels of Tracy’s jacket and moaning into her mouth as they grappled with one another. She pulled back and pushed the hair out of Brenda’s face.

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m not sure. I know I’ll be annoyed if we went this far and then just stop. I don’t know where I found the courage and I doubt I can find it again. Please.”

Tracy kissed her and they moved toward the door. Brenda had already unlocked it while waiting for Tracy to join her on the porch, so they stepped inside into the more complete darkness of the living room. The house smelled like fresh-dried sheets and some other sweet smell, a combination that instantly made her feel comfortable as she moved her hands over the curve of Brenda’s hips to travel higher. Their lips came apart only to crash together again, tongues tangling to a chorus of moans from both women. She pushed the blazer off Brenda’s shoulders, letting it sit around her forearms in a loose shackle as she grazed her fingers back up along her biceps. Brenda squirmed out of her jacket and put her arms around Tracy, leaning her body to the left to guide her down a short hallway.

“Fuck, I can’t believe I’m doing this...”

“Want me to pinch you?”

“Maybe later.”

Tracy growled and pulled off her jacket. She let it fall, then stooped down to grab Brenda’s knees. Brenda instinctively wrapped her legs around Tracy’s waist, arms around her shoulders, and Tracy pressed her face into the cleavage she had been admiring since spotting her across the bar. She licked up to her neck, moving down the hall as Brenda gasped breathless directions until they reached the bedroom. She looked over Brenda’s shoulder, her eyes adjusted enough to the darkness to see the bed, and she walked her to it. She let her down and let her drop onto the mattress before climbing on top of her, kissing her as she ran her hands over the glorious curves.

“God, you’re strong.”

“Training,” she said.

Brenda gave a drunken giggle. “Lots of training to be a professor?”

“Yep.”

They were silent for a long while, long enough to get Brenda’s blouse and bra off. Tracy explored them with her lips and tongue, lingering over the candy-pink nipples while her hands moved lower to the waistband of her slacks. She unfastened them and Brenda lifted her hips to have them slipped off. Tracy sat up and took a moment to yank off Brenda’s shoes, then let the slacks fly. When she looked down Brenda had her hand over the crotch of her panties, her breasts rising and falling in an almost unhealthy rhythm. She knelt on the edge of the mattress, which sagged under her weight, and rested her hands on Brenda’s knees. 

“I just want to make you feel good.”

Brenda nodded, and then closed her eyes as Tracy began massaging her thighs, easing her legs apart with each squeeze. She was still fully clothed as Brenda scooted backward to give her more room and she sank down, lying on her stomach as she turned her head to kiss her way down Brenda’s inner thigh. Brenda jerked away but then dug her fingers into Tracy’s hair so she wouldn’t get the wrong idea and pull away. Tracy parted her lips and used her tongue to draw an arrow pointing at her eventual destination, and Brenda made a vowel-less sound low in her throat.

Tracy licked her through the thin material of her underwear, looking up to watch Brenda’s reactions. She licked her thumb and pressed it against the crotch, wiping upward until she found the clit. Brenda yelped, and Tracy shushed her. “It’s okay. Don’t hold back, sweetie.” She lowered her head and kissed, sucked, and Brenda lifted her hips off the mattress.

“Never... stop doing that...”

Tracy smiled and curled her finger under the cotton. Pushing it out of the way, she kissed Brenda’s sex with such tenderness that Brenda cried out again.

“Oh, fuck. I forgot your name...”

Tracy laughed and slipped her tongue inside, and Brenda surrendered. Her hand flexed and tightened in Tracy’s hair, and Tracy used her free hand to draw the letters of her name on Brenda’s thigh. Brenda realized what she was doing, and a cute line of concentration appeared between her eyebrows as she tried to focus enough to spell. “Ack... Acy... Tracy... Tracy!”

Tracy moaned and curled the tip of her tongue. She brushed her lips across the folds and whispered, “Has a man ever made you feel like this?”

Brenda whimpered incoherently but finally managed to say, “N-no... never. Don’t stop, Tracy.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please,” Brenda cried, and Tracy granted her request. She unfolded her finger and pushed it inside, and Brenda tightened. Tracy curled her tongue and used it to open Brenda so she could fit in a second finger, and Brenda whispered, “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

Tracy closed her eyes as Brenda came, two fingers of one hand inside of her while she cupped Brenda’s ass with the other. When Brenda finally went limp, her voice a trembling vibrato as she cupped both hands over her face. Tracy tenderly replaced the cotton of her underwear, kissed the cotton, and then began a slow journey up Brenda’s body. She licked her navel, her stomach, and sucked both of her nipples before resting her weight on top of her. Brenda instinctively put her arms around Tracy and squeezed, then balled her hands into fists in the material.

“God.”

Tracy smiled. “I’m glad you approve.”

“You’re still dressed.”

“You never bothered to take anything off of me.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Close your eyes.” Brenda did as she was told, and Tracy kissed her eyelids. Brenda trembled at each light brush, and then moved her hands down to Tracy’s ass. 

Brenda said, “I don’t think I can... do... that. Not with my mouth.”

“That’s okay. There’s more than one way to please a lesbian.”

“Heh,” Brenda gasped. “I don’t...”

Tracy lifted herself up and straddled Brenda. “Unbutton my pants. Unzip them, too. You can pull them down a little if you need the room.” Brenda did as she was told, her hands shaking as she tugged the pants down far enough to get her hand between Tracy’s thighs. Tracy reached down and guided her, eyes closed as Brenda extended three fingers against the crotch of her panties. “There...”

“There?”

“Mm-hmm.” She began to move, and a moment later Brenda moved as well. When she felt Brenda had the gist, she moved her hands to the mattress on either side of Brenda’s head. She rocked her hips forward and back, and Brenda bit her bottom lip as she stared into the face of the near-stranger hovering over her. She was about to suggest pushing the underwear out of the way when Brenda took the initiative and touched her, making her gasp and close her eyes.

“Just one finger?”

“Two...”

Brenda swallowed again, and Tracy grunted as two crossed fingers pushed into her. Brenda looked down, using her thumb, and Tracy said, “Slide it down... n-no, over. There. There. Rub my clit. God... yes... good girl. You’re a natural.”

“Thank you...”

Tracy sank down and Brenda met her halfway, kissing her to distract her the mechanics of what she was doing. She dragged her lips over Brenda’s feverish cheek to suck her earlobe. 

“You’re going to make me come, Brenda. Don’t stop. I’m close...” Brenda moved her hand faster. “No. Go back... slow down, baby... yeah. Just like that. God, that’s good. I’m so close. Brenda...” She cried out wordlessly then, back arched, and pressed herself down hard on Brenda’s hand. Her climax was punctuated by a shudder and a sigh, and she gently pushed Brenda’s hand away. She settled against Brenda’s hips and relaxed her grip on the blankets, moving her hands to bury them in Brenda’s thick red hair. They kissed again, and this time Brenda was the aggressor. Tracy happily let her take over for a moment, but then tilted her head back and began assaulting her neck.

“That was unreal...”

“It was very real.”

“I know. God. I mean. It was... it was...” She twisted and pulled until she found Tracy’s mouth again, kissing her as if trying to imprint the memory of it on her lips. “Wow.”

Tracy smoothed down Brenda’s hair and pecked her lips. “Get some rest.”

“You’re still dressed.”

“We can take care of that when we wake up for round two. Right now...” She brushed her tongue over Brenda’s lips. “Just rest a little.”

“Okay...”

She rolled off and lay down next to Brenda, watching her face for any signs of regret, but all she saw was contentment and wonder. She flattened her hand on Brenda’s stomach and rubbed from the bell of her ribs down to the first tuft of red hair between her legs, closing her eyes as she stroked the familiar terrain in a pattern that eventually soothed her into a comforted slumber.

#

In Tracy’s dreams she was flying.

Or that was as close an analogy as she could make. There was no real equivalent on Earth to the sensation of weightlessness. Flying, floating, falling, it all came with the knowledge gravity was involved, inertia and physics and weight. In space it was like she left her body. It was more like astral projection with a tie back to your body, since she still felt hungry or hurt. Her back and joints ached in dull agony, but she knew that was just a result of her frame being stretched out an inch or two. She was almost five-eight, the same height of the sister she’d always called the Amazon.

While on the station, it seemed like she had done nothing but work. There was time for recreation, meals, exercising, et cetera, but she never seemed to have enough time to simply appreciate where she was and what she was doing. For the past four years, however, her brain kept casting her back to the fun she’d had while orbiting the planet.

Her dreams were often like a ballet, a silent and sweeping montage of cramped nodes and countless little nooks and crannies crammed full of essential tech. But she always tried to focus on the windows. She would take moments throughout her day to just stare out and watch the world slowly spin by underneath them. The station was close enough to Earth that that couldn’t see the entire thing at once, but it was still far enough to make the planet seem unbearably tiny. She saw smoke from fires, she saw cities flickering to life like nests of fireflies, and she wondered about the billions of people going about their daily lives without a thought of being observed.

Sometimes when she thought that way, she realized she understood Commander Weir’s ego. It would be very easy for someone to start feeling godlike from this vantage point.

She managed to find Squire’s Isle on one of the passes over the Pacific Northwest and she took a picture of the archipelago. The island had been her home between semesters, the lab serving as a way to continue her studies even when she had no classes. It seemed huge in her memory, but from this height it was little more than a freckle on the face of the Salish Sea.

As she drifted out of the dream and back to reality, she had a moment of panicky awareness. She went from weightlessness, focusing on zenith and nadir, to gravity and a distinct up-and-down. She was in a stranger’s bed and therefore hadn’t had the ability to strap herself down. Her head swam as her entire body tensed, and she dug her fingers into the pillow in an effort to steady herself. Her stomach lurched but everything remained where it belonged, and she slowly stretched her legs out under the blankets as her body calmly remembered where it was.

She’d once asked Leila, a veteran of three missions, how long the dreams and disorientation would last. She thought for a moment and said, “I heard about someone who once spent three days up here, five years ago. They’re still having the dreams.” She said it apologetically, but Tracy was grateful. Knowing the dreams lingered meant that a part of her would always be in space.

As she slowly acclimated back to life on Earth for the six-thousandth time since coming back, she heard Brenda shifting on the mattress behind her. At one point during the night they had found each other again, and Tracy had a vague, dreamlike memory of taking off her clothes and thrusting against her in the dark. She stayed lying on her side, facing the wall, and listened as Brenda woke up and her memory of the night before came back to her.

“Oh, shit. Oh... _shit_. Oh, no, no, no, no.” 

_Okay. Reaction B. I can deal with that._ She feigned waking, stretching as she rolled onto her back. Brenda had scooted up against the headboard - Tracy had a vague memory of pressing her hands against that very spot as she instructed Brenda to bend her knee to she could rub herself against the elevated thigh - and the blankets were gathered against her bare chest. Her hair was tangled - Tracy’s fault - and covered her eyes, but she swept the bangs out of the way and looked at Tracy as if she was... well, as if she was a naked stranger who had just been discovered in her bed.

“Morning,” she said.

Brenda’s lips passed through a series of expressions, from polite greeting, to horrified grimace, before settling on a neutral line. “Hi. Uh.”

Tracy sat up and kept one hand across her chest. “Last night doesn’t have to mean anything. It can just be a fun experiment, or an experience you can now check off your bucket list.”

“Okay.”

“You can go take a shower, I’ll start the coffee, and I’ll be gone by the time it’s ready.”

“Well, you don’t... have to do that. I mean, shit, we can have breakfast together at least.”

Tracy nodded. “Okay.” She tentatively reached out and fixed Brenda’s hair. “Are you all right with what happened last night?”

“Yeah. I mean... I can’t believe it happened. But it did. And I’m glad.” She leaned in and kissed Tracy, an oddly experimental kiss, as if she was testing the waters. Tracy tilted her head to the side and their lips parted, and Brenda pulled back before they could go farther. “I’m going to take that shower.”

“Okay. I’ll go get the coffee started if that’s okay...”

“Yeah. Sure. Uh, kitchen is...” She gestured vaguely toward the front of the house and Tracy nodded. She was fairly sure she could find a kitchen. They dressed with their backs to each other. Tracy was forced to put on her clothes from the night before, gathered her short hair in her hand before letting it fall across her forehead, then stood and padded barefoot out of the bedroom.

Reaction A was the best-case scenario, where her partner woke up sober and realized what they had done with an elated glee. Usually Reaction A’s only regret was not remembering the entire act, and they almost always wanted a reenactment. As tiring as it was, Tracy never turned down a request for an encore. Reaction B was more common, the woman waking up horrified at what she’d done and eager to just move on as quickly as possible. She had discovered that the younger the woman, the more likely the chance for the first reaction.

There were other reactions, with an incremental decline in enjoyment. Reaction F had only happened once, when Tracy woke with a woman shrieking that she’d been roofied and taken advantage of. Tracy had done everything right and refused to feel guilty about the woman’s drunken decision, but she’d stuck around long enough to make sure the cops wouldn’t get called. That had been harrowing enough that she’d cemented her technique just to make sure her partners were all just lucid enough to know they were making the decision of their own free will.

She started making coffee and then investigated the fridge to see the options for breakfast. She cleared off the stove and began making omelets and sausage. Brenda came into the kitchen wearing a robe over a scooped-neck shirt, and she stared at Tracy long enough that Tracy finally looked up and met her gaze. There was something in Brenda’s expression that she vaguely recognized but was too asleep to place. She crossed the kitchen and reached out with both hands.

Tracy cringed as if she expected to be throttled, but Brenda only took Tracy’s hair in her hands and pushed it back. A wave of it still fell across her right eyebrow, and Brenda used her thumb to clear it away. She looked hard, then her eyes widened.

“Oh, my God. You’re that astronaut.”

Tracy closed her eyes. So much for anonymous sex.


	6. Chapter 6

She made her escape after breakfast, navigating through the weird waters of Brenda’s mixture of star-struck awe and lingering discomfort about what she’d done the night before. Fortunately she had errands that needed to be finished by noon, so Tracy was able to escape without resorting to lies. Brenda asked to kiss her goodbye and Tracy decided to go with it, walking down the driveway to her truck as she cursed herself for not just driving away while Brenda was in the shower. She could have started the coffee and then picked up her own breakfast at McDonald’s. Usually it was her tattoo that gave her away, women tracing the moon’s design and then letting two and two click together.

She didn’t have class in the morning, but she decided to drive up to Anacortes for the weekend anyway. It was much less crowded than Seattle, and there was a nil chance of running into Brenda if she was nearly a hundred miles away. She found something mellow and folksy on the radio and made the trip in a near-trance. She didn’t know how real celebrities dealt with the attention, how they managed when the whole world knew their face. She had a hard enough time as an astronaut that maybe one out of ten people would recognize on sight. It was why she had to rely on smartphones to do the heavy lifting for her. But when she actually wanted to be anonymous, the NASA groupies came out in force.

When she got home she took a long shower, then put on her comfortable weekend clothes. There were still a few beers in the fridge but she would have to pick up more to get her through the weekend. She did the math as she popped the top of her first drink, trying to decide whether it would be more economical to get a case of cans or a few bottles. She stretched out on the couch and turned on the TV for a few hours of mindless entertainment.

It was late afternoon, closing in on dusk, and she was on her third beer. The movie she’d chosen was actually pretty good, and she was annoyed by the cellular interruption as she looked at the unknown number on the screen. Had Brenda had the opportunity to figure out her number? No, her phone had been with her the entire time, except when it was in the pocket of her jeans next to the bed. And she knew Brenda had passed out first. She decided to answer. 

“Tracy Finch.”

“Hi, Tracy.”

The movie was forgotten, and she nearly knocked over her bottle. “Vic. Oh, my God. Hi. Hello.” Victoria Weir’s voice crossed the continent to her, the distance suddenly so inconsequential that she wanted to run out the door to find her. Instead she reached up and touched her neck, staring at the floor and oddly wishing that she was wearing a nicer outfit. “Victoria. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know. I wanted to be the one who told you. Christopher was in a car accident yesterday morning. He spent most of the day in surgery, but they... they had to amputate his right leg.”

Tracy blinked in surprise. She couldn’t imagine Commander Weir missing a leg; she knew that he would see it as being less of a man. The damage to his self-image would be catastrophic. “He must be devastated.”

“He will be when he wakes up. They put him in a medically-induced coma because of swelling in his brain.” Her voice broke. “I’m calling everyone on his teams to let them know. There were so many.”

“Let me take care of 219, okay? I still have most of the numbers, and the ones I don’t have Leila will. We’ll take care of it.”

Vic sighed. “Thank you, Tracy.”

“Is there anything else I can do? Anything, Vic. I could fly out, be there in a few hours.”

Silence on the other end of the line. “Don’t.”

“I want to help.”

“I called because you deserved to hear it from me, Tracy. I didn’t do this to open any doors, okay? So stop.”

Tracy closed her eyes. “I just want to help.”

“You want to help him? Or do you just want to get back into my good graces? Tracy, move on. Please.”

“I can’t. I love you.”

“This was a mistake...”

“If you don’t feel the same way, just say so, and--”

“I don’t love you, Tracy. I love Christopher, and right now he needs me more than he ever has. Good lord, what was I thinking calling you? I’m sorry. I’m sorry I stirred this all up for you.”

Tracy said, “Wait. Wait, don’t hang up. I’ll still call the others. You have enough to deal with.” She scrambled for a pen. “Who all have you called from 219?”

“Just... just you, so far.”

_You started with me, because you wanted to hear my voice._

“I wanted to get you out of the way.”

Tracy closed her eyes. “Vic...”

“Please don’t.”

“I love you.”

“Don’t. This will be the last time we speak, Tracy, understood? 

Tracy swallowed the lump in her throat. “I understand. I’m sorry.”

“Me too. Thank you. For making the calls. It’s a lot off my plate.”

 _I would do anything for you._ “Sure.”

“Goodbye, Tracy.”

She couldn’t make herself say the words, already on the verge of crying. She was afraid “I love you” would slip out again, and she’d already flogged that dead horse enough in one conversation. If it was the last time they spoke, she wanted to make their last words to each other count.

“I don’t regret it. Not a single second of it.”

Vic sighed. “Oh, Tracy... I regret it enough for the both of us.”

Tracy held the phone against her ear long after she realized the call had ended. She looked at the number and, while debating whether or not to add it to her phone, realized that she had probably called from a public phone at the hospital just so Tracy couldn’t track her down. She opened her contacts list and dialed Leila’s number. She managed to get herself under control before Leila picked up, and she shared the meager information she’d gotten from Victoria regarding their former commander’s condition. Leila had contact information for Simon Zea, Alf Vanaria, and Max Drayer, so Tracy was only responsible for calling David Letersky. She called him and filled him in, then turned off the phone and dropped it onto the cushion next to her. It slid down into the crack of the cushion but she didn’t bother retrieving it. By that point she’d missed almost half an hour of the movie, so she turned it off and sat in silence.

When they were on ISS, they were allowed a pack of personal items they could bring with them. Tracy had brought a small Marvin the Martian figurine, a picture of her mom and sister, and a little wooden doll that her fourth grade teacher’s current class had voted for her to take up. Christopher’s personal effects featured a picture of Victoria standing on the deck of their lakeside house in Nassau Beach. She was wearing a yellow sundress and glasses that covered most of her face. 

Tracy hadn’t even met Vic during their time on the station, but that picture had worked its way into her memory. She hadn’t anticipated the fact that she would spend most of a month in space with only one other woman, a woman who happened to be straight, and by the first week she was looking at anything with breasts as a mild form of pornography. She remembered one morning after making love she had mentioned the picture to Victoria, her head on Vic’s stomach as she teased her pubic hair.

“Sometimes it felt like you were on the station with us. You were so beautiful. You helped me get through the drought.”

“Happy to help.”

Although Vic had never seemed ‘happy’ during their interludes. She was content, she was more than happy to initiate their encounters, but she wasn’t in it for love. That was fine at the beginning, before Tracy found herself inexorably in love with the woman she’d meant to use as a pawn, but now it stung knowing that Victoria had never loved her, had never even been a little bit in love with her. She looked at the bottle of beer she’d been working on through the movie and knew it wouldn’t be enough to cope with the phone call. She went into the kitchen, reassessed the amount of alcohol she currently had in her home, and grabbed her keys off the counter.

#

She drank. The buzz took the edge off the world, took her back from the brink, so she padded the feeling by drinking even more. She had gotten more than enough from the liquor store to keep her afloat throughout the weekend. The variety helped her from getting bored. Regular old beer was fine, and she got what she needed from the corner store, but she got her vodka from the old shop on the corner that had walls lined with glorious, multicolored bottles from all over the world. So much to try, so many routes off the road she was barreling down. Drinking a little made her feel a little better, so there had to be some level of drunkenness she could reach where she’d forget Veronica entirely.

She stretched out on the couch, hungry... starving, really, and tried to quell that desire with another drink. She covered her head with a pillow and made sure there were other bottles within reach if she needed them. They were her friends, her comfort, and if that call really had been her last conversation with Victoria, she had a feeling she would always want a bottle nearby just to stop the pain from rising. She felt herself passing out and dreamed that she was on the space station during an emergency. Klaxons and alarms, and other members of her team floating here and there trying to find the source. They all tossed angry looks in her direction and she understood that she was the cause of this emergency. It had been all her fault.

“I’m sorry,” she said, but the words were hollow and lost. She pushed her way to the cupola and realized with horror that the glass was broken. She couldn’t breathe, but that should have been the least of her worries. She tried to backpedal, to get away, but her legs weren’t working right. She coughed, another impossibility considering she was in a vacuum, and one of her team members hooked his hands under her arms and hauled her forward. He was wearing his EVA suit and she clutched to the bulky shoulders as she was dragged forward.

“How are you dragging me?” she asked. She felt her lower body on something rough; there was no gravity in space. She would be floating.

It was the friction that finally broke through her senses and woke her up. She was being dragged because her living room was full of thick smoke, and the man holding her was wearing a firefighter’s coat and mask. She coughed violently and clung to him until they were through the front door and into her yard. She coughed violently, dry heaving as the firefighter helped her stand up and moved her toward the sidewalk. She was handed off to another fireman, or maybe a paramedic, she was still addled from her dream mixing with reality and felt as if she had just fallen from space, and he gave her an oxygen mask that fit over her nose and mouth. She was awake enough to know she didn’t need a full helmet, but she still had a lingering panic that most of her head was exposed.

They sat her on the curb across from her house, and she stared at it in disbelief. The windows were alive with flickering orange-yellow light, and smoke poured from every opening. She remembered her dinner, standing over the stove and then wandering into the other room with a bottle swinging from her right hand. She’d left the food cooking and fallen asleep. Her heart caught against her ribs as she realized everything that was still inside, the souvenirs and the mementos from her time at NASA. Photos... she had copies of them elsewhere. She had patches and stickers to spare in her Seattle apartment. The biggest loss, of course, was her phone. All of her contacts and...

Victoria’s number.

She screamed into the mask and stood up, but someone grabbed her and guided her back down as gently as they could. She didn’t know if the number would be saved in some cloud, had no idea if there was a way to recover the information. It was a moot point since Victoria was unlikely to answer in any event, but the fact she wouldn’t have it anymore hurt her like she couldn’t believe. She wrapped her arms around her core, leaned forward with her head on her knees, and squeezed as the firemen raced around trying to save a home she already knew was a lost cause.


	7. Chapter 7

The house wasn’t a total loss, but she sold it to a company that would gut the interior and rebuild it from the ground up. She had been planning to streamline her life a bit, but she hadn’t expected for the decision to be taken away from her so brutally. In the end she managed to salvage some items from the house with only minor smoke and water damage. Her bedroom was mostly untouched by the full force of the fire and she packed her clothes into the back of her truck. Her phone was gone, too damaged by the heat. The Marvin the Martian she had taken to space was on her mantle, and he had once again come through unscathed. In the end, she drove away from the place she’d called home for two and a half years with barely more than she would have packed for a long vacation.

She called her mother and sister, both of whom immediately offered to fly out and help her or fly her to them so she’d have a place to stay. She reminded them she had an apartment in Seattle and she had classes to teach, but she appreciated their offers nonetheless. The apartment was now her only home, and her commute had transformed from a few hours to the entire morning. She used the money from selling the shell of her home to buy a place on Squire’s Isle, giving her a new home base close to the labs. It would be nice to sleep in without worrying over whether she’d miss the ferry.

In the months after the fire, she was only sober for the brief time she had to travel from one place to the next, although she wasn’t sure driving hungover was any better than driving while drunk. She would have liked to claim she was also sober during class, but in all honesty she maintained a pretty good buzz through most of those days as well. It was just easier to keep drinking, to forget about Victoria and everything with the house. She found all the most accommodating bars in her area and quickly became known at the ones nearest her Seattle apartment and her new apartment on Squire’s Isle.

Tracy continued to have her one-night stands, and there were only a few mishaps along the way. One woman sprayed her with Mace when they got outside, which was an effective mood killer. A few nights later she was aggravated to discover she was the prey, not the predator, when she got to the lady’s home and discovered her husband waiting to act as an audience. Not her idea of a good time. But the successes outweighed the losses, and soon she felt like she was back in her old groove. The only difference was the amount of alcohol she required in the fridge to get through an entire weekend had increased just a smidgen.

Three months after losing her house, she was at a new restaurant on Squire’s Isle called The Old Harbor, which offered the typical burgers and seafood but also had a full bar tucked alongside the dining room. Most of the people in the bar were waiting until their tables were ready, but Tracy loved the place. Other diners assumed she was waiting for someone to join her before she ate, and only the bartender knew she would start and end her evening on the stool with far too many rings on her coaster.

The bar had a jukebox, one of the classic old monsters that had been overhauled to play CDs and could also have MP3s uploaded to its brain. Guests could use the restaurant’s free Wi-Fi to connect and play their own music, though the management did request a PG-13 rating on any music they played.

Tracy was considering one more drink or calling it a night when a new song started playing. The song was called “Things We Lost in the Fire,” and the chorus consisted of repeating the title over and over again. She was normally able to change the radio station when the blasted thing came on, but here it assaulted her senses until she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Who put that on?” She looked over her shoulder at the other people in the bar area. No one owned up to it, and only one of them acknowledged she’d spoken. She turned on her stool and looked for anyone who seemed guilty, but no one revealed themselves. She got up, her right leg nearly turning to rubber underneath her before she corrected it, and stalked across the room to the machine. She thumbed the curved glass of its face with both palms.

“Okay, shut up. Whiny British emo asshole, shut up...”

He continued to wail, and she slammed her hand against it hard enough to hurt herself. 

“Shut up, goddamn it!”

The bartender had come away from his station and grabbed her before she could hit it again. She squirmed in a lame attempt at escape, giving up almost instantly as she was walked toward the door. 

“Leave me alone.”

“Maybe just a little fresh air, huh? Just get your bearings again.”

“Go to hell.”

He guided her outside in a manner she would later know was gentle and considerate, but at the moment she felt like he was hauling her by the collar of her jacket. He stood her on the sidewalk at a well-chosen distance from the door and any cars in the parking lot just in case she felt the need to return some of her drinks. She leaned forward, hands on her knees, and sucked in a deep breath of air. Her intention had been to humor the guy, but damn if the fresh air wasn’t doing her a world of good.

“You okay here?”

She nodded, then closed her eyes as the motion made her brain swim. She carefully eased herself down onto the sidewalk and sincerely worried she wouldn’t be able to make her way home on the bike. Even walking the half mile would be a tricky prospect. She bent her knees, put her elbows against them, and pushed her hands into her hair. She took deep gulping breaths and then leaned back to look up at the sky. It was beautiful out on the island, far away from any big cities. No light pollution and all beauty. It was nothing compared to actually being out there among them with nothing in the way, but the clear sky provided as close an approximation as she could hope for.

The bar’s door opened and closed again, and Tracy hoped whoever it was would just step over her without comment. To her consternation, the person stopped next to her and looked down. It was a woman, mid-forties, with thick blonde hair and wearing a black silk blouse. She smiled.

“Hi there.”

“Hi.”

“I’m Jessica McCoy. Jessie. How are you doing?”

Tracy gave her a thumbs-up. “Sorry. Am I in your way?”

“No, I actually own this place. Eliot told me he had to escort someone out because she was assaulting my jukebox. That thing wasn’t cheap, you know.”

“Oh. Oh, shit, did I damage it?” She sat up and the world carouseled around her.

Jessie crouched down next to her. “No, it’s pretty sturdy. I’m more worried about you. You okay? Takes a lot of rage to attack a music box like that. Not to mention the fact you’ve been in here pretty much every night this month without actually having dinner. Everything okay?”

Tracy shrugged so she wouldn’t have to nod. She pushed her hands into her hair, which had grown uncomfortably long. She wondered how long it had been since a haircut and hooked the strangely long locks behind her ears so she wouldn’t have to think about it. 

“Your name is Tracy, right?”

“Yeah. Tracy Finch.”

Jessie held out her hand. “Nice to finally officially meet you.”

Tracy offered a weak handshake. “Look, I’m sorry if I upset anyone in there or caused a scene. Just... that song. I lost my house to a fire a few months ago. Then that song starts playing everywhere...”

“Oh, geez. Yeah, that would be kind of a slap in the face.”

“And I didn’t pay my bill...” She reached for her pocket, but Jessie stopped her.

“You had an emotionally traumatic experience in my bar. For that, your drinks are on the house. Even if you did attack the jukebox.”

Tracy smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Do you need some help getting home? Eliot said you were looking pretty shaky when he brought you out here and I have to agree with him.”

“I rode my bike.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” After a moment, she decided not to wait for an answer. “Come on. We can put your bike in the backseat of my car.”

Tracy accepted Jessie’s offer to help her up, stumbled, and leaned against her as they walked to where she had left her bike. They loaded it into the backseat of Jessie’s car, and Tracy folded herself into the passenger seat. She fastened her seatbelt, sank down, and cupped her hand over her eyes as Jessie got behind the wheel and started the engine. After a few seconds without moving Tracy opened her eyes and looked out the windshield. They were still parked, and she looked at Jessie for an explanation.

“I have no idea where you live.”

“Oh. Right. Of course not. Blair Idyll Apartments. Do you know where that is?”

“Well enough that I can fake it. This isn’t the biggest town.”

The drive took less than five minutes, and Tracy still nearly fell asleep before they arrived. She straightened in her seat before Jessie had to shake her awake, pushed her hair out of her face again, and looked at the building. It wasn’t ugly, wasn’t beautiful, but it was where she paid a reasonable price to store her things while she was getting drunk. 

“Thanks for the ride. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. I’ve noticed you a couple of nights. Look, it’s really not my place--”

Tracy closed her eyes. “Oh, God. Not this.”

“No preaching, just... proselytizing a little bit. I would have put you to shame back in the day. I started drinking when I was in high school, didn’t stop until about five years ago. I woke up without my wallet or car keys, and my apartment was pretty much cleaned out. I had never felt more vulnerable than I did right then. Yes, they had taken everything, but I was right there. I was passed out drunk when they carried my shit out of the apartment. Who knows what else they might have decided to do? So I decided the time had come to cut it out of my life. We have meetings...”

“Oh, Christ. Dips getting chips. I’ll pass, thanks.” She opened the car door and climbed out. “You know, if you wanted to ban me from your bar, you could have skipped the friendly routine and just said it. Thanks for your concern, though.” She shut the door and turned, hoping her gait was steady as she walked toward the building. She ignored the sound of Jessie getting out of the car, determined not to give her the satisfaction of shooing her.

“Hey.”

Tracy kept her face forward.

“Your bike.”

She slowed, stopped, and looked back to see Jessie easing the bike out of her car. She placed it on the sidewalk and pushed it to where Tracy was standing.

“I figure you’d lost enough to assault my jukebox, you shouldn’t have to lose anything else.”

Tracy took the bike from her. 

“You’re more than welcome at the Old Harbor any time. You should try the steak sometime. At least venture out from the bar once or twice. We have a pretty stellar kitchen staff, and you do have to eat sometime. I brought up the meetings once. The second conversation is on you.”

“Right.”

“No, that’s how it works. If I have to bug you every time I see you with a drink in your hand, it won’t work. I hope to see you around.”

Tracy murmured, “Thanks,” and pushed her bicycle into the building. Her apartment was on the second floor, and she looked out the window once she got inside. Jessie’s car was gone, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She leaned her bike against the wall and went to the fridge. She’d been kicked out of the bar before she had her fill, and she needed at least one more bottle to get her through the night.


	8. Chapter 8

There was a bottle on the floor just in front of her face, and there was a shimmer of liquid on the lip. A small pool had spilled onto the carpet and she muttered a curse as she struggled into a sitting position. The action made her head ring like a timpani, rattling her eyeballs and making her stomach push up into her throat. She choked down the sick and looked around her apartment. She was home, that was good. She seemed to be alone, and that was better. She picked up the bottle she had spilled and carried it into the kitchen. She started to pour it out, but the nausea she had fought while sitting came rushing back. She bent over the sink, purged what needed purging, and rinsed her mouth from the faucet. 

Her iPod was on the floor, thankfully not near the spill, and she had a vague memory of dancing on the coffee table. She didn’t know if it would have been better or worse to have an audience for that, so she considered it a wash. Her clothes were still clean, which was fantastic. Other than the headache and throwing up, she considered it a pretty good morning.

Tracy stepped in the spilled beer and looked down at the way it rose out of the carpet around her toes. She catalogued her thoughts: she had woken up on the floor with a nine-point-five hangover, had no real memory of the night before, she’d just thrown up in the sink, and there was beer seeping into the carpet. She had taken those pieces, put them together, and called it a good morning.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered.

She dropped the bottle she was carrying as she realized she had been planning to lift it to her lips to see if there was any left. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she dumped the bottle in the trash and went to the fridge. The top shelf was as well-stocked as any liquor store. She had a gallon of milk that nauseated her when she sniffed it, but she had plenty of orange juice. Any pride she would have had in its presence was tempered by the fact she only had it to make Zombies and Sangria. She drank directly from the carton and wiped her mouth once she’d had her fill.

She found a clean glass, trying to remember the last time she’d washed dishes, and fumbled in the drawer for a bottle of aspirin. She popped two, chased them with water, and turned to look out past the kitchen counter. The apartment was small enough that she could see down the hall into the bedroom. The entire apartment was a rancid mess. Dirty clothes had fallen on the floor, with a few sweaters and jackets hanging off doorknobs. The bed was unmade, the sheets unwashed, and she cringed to think of the women she’d brought back to this dump. What must they think of her? How many of them had fled in horror when they realized what they’d just slept with. 

She spent the morning tidying up, wincing through every throb of her headache and taking it as the punishment it was. She cleaned up her spill, put two bags of laundry next to the door, and sprayed air freshener to get some of the funk out. First there was something she had to do. After she showered and dressed she felt like a person since the moment she woke up, and she took a deep breath of morning air as soon as she walked outside.

The breeze off the ocean, the pines that closed around the town like an embrace... she couldn’t think of a better part of the country in which to have a hangover. She made sure the door had locked behind her and walked downstairs, hands in her pockets, and she took the long route through town toward the harbor. Her headache had mostly evaporated during her walk, but occasionally the sun would glint off the water like a spike through her retina, and she regretted not wearing her sunglasses.

The Old Harbor looked strange during the day. The large windows that allowed diners to look out at the water were dark, rather than the wide golden screens they seemed to be after dark. They were technically open for lunch, but the parking lot was empty. She tested the door, found it unlocked, and slipped inside. It had been a month since she’d shown her face in the restaurant, a month since she had the humiliating experience of being driven home by the owner. 

“Tracy?”

She looked toward the bar and saw Eliot was out of uniform, dressed in a pale blue shirt rather than his usual attire. She almost didn’t recognize him.

“Sorry, we actually don’t start serving until three.”

“Oh. I know. I was wondering if I could speak to, um. Jessie? Jessie Conroy?”

“Jessie McCoy. She’s in the back. I’ll go get her.”

“Thanks.”

She started toward the bar once he was gone, simple habit, but she decided that for the first time she didn’t want the temptation. She stuck her hands into her pockets and hovered in the middle distance, not in the bar but also not in the dining area which was currently vacant. She walked over to the jukebox and smoothed her palm over the front of it. If she had managed to break the glass, she would have cut herself pretty terribly. The thought of it made her queasy again, so she focused on the display of songs being offered and then saw the reflection of Jessie coming up behind her.

She hadn’t had the presence of mind to notice her savior’s looks when they met, but now she could admit she was definitely attractive. Tall and slender, beautiful enough to be a model but with enough weight behind her eyes to prove she’d worked hard to earn everything she had. Her hair was dirty blonde and tied back in a ponytail, and she was dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans. She smiled when she realized she was being examined in the glass, and deep dimples took up residence on both cheeks.

“If you came back for a rematch, you should know I’ve been loading it with a lot of fight songs. ‘Eye of the Tiger.’ It might kick your butt.”

Tracy managed a smile. “Don’t worry, I come waving a white flag.”

“Excellent. Are you okay? You look kind of ragged. No offense.”

“No, none taken. Well-deserved, in fact.” She cleared her throat and furrowed her brow. “I woke up this morning in the apartment of a drunk person. I’m not sure how I got there, or what she was doing with all of my stuff, but I’d kind of like to get rid of her. I want to make it my house.”

Jessie nodded slowly. “Good. I’m happy to hear it.”

“I was wondering if you had the address of those meetings you told me about.”

“I could take you to one. If you want someone to lean on.”

Tracy started to agree but the word got caught in her throat. She looked away, focusing on the jukebox and letting her focus fade so she couldn’t see her reflection. Jessie didn’t say anything; she just stepped forward to put her hand on Tracy’s shoulder and gently squeeze it. Tracy reached up and covered Jessie’s hand with hers.

“Help me.”

“I’ll do everything I can. I swear.”

#

The town only had one group, which initially made Tracy uneasy. She didn’t like the idea of walking into the room and being identified as a drunk, or knowing who in town was marked with the scarlet AA. They met at the public library, so she took a trip to see what the place looked like without the trappings of Alcoholics Anonymous. No folding chairs, no pamphlets, just a simple room with long tables ringing the room. There were posters on the wall and she examined them, planning to use them as tethers to the real world when she was trapped in the room listening to testimonials.

When she was finished she went back to the Old Harbor. Jessie was in her office when she arrived. She had told her to stop by anytime, but she still hesitated before going from the public area to the private hallway. She knocked gently and Jessie looked up with a smile. “Hey, Tracy. Come on in, I’m not busy.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can. Just put your foot over the threshold, then bend at the waist and drop into one of these seats.”

“You know what I mean. I can’t be a recovering alcoholic.”

Jessie folded her hands in front of her. “How about I get us something to drink? Tea?”

“I don’t like tea.”

“When was the last time you had a cup of tea?”

Tracy shrugged. “No idea. I’ve never liked tea.”

“So why is alcohol so different? You’ve gone your whole life without drinking tea, you can go the rest of your life without alcohol. It’s not easy, but it’s also not impossible. You just have to be dedicated. What’s the longest you’ve gone without a drink since you started?”

“Eleven months. I was training.”

“Training?”

“To go into space.”

Jessie stared at her and sat up straighter. “You’ve been to space?”

Tracy nodded. “I was an astronaut. I was up there for seventeen days, four years ago.”

“And you’re worried about a little thing like not drinking? Damn, woman. Did you leave your spine up there when you came home?” She stood up and rounded her desk to sit on the edge. She was wearing pants with legs that ballooned over her feet, but Tracy could see that she was barefoot. “If you need a sponsor, if you need someone to hold your hand through the steps, I would be happy to offer my services.”

“Isn’t there a rule about who can and can’t be sponsors?”

“Well, they try to avoid romantic entanglements muddying the waters. I’m bisexual.”

“I’m gay. So.”

Jessie smiled. “Well, okay. Not a sponsor, then, just to be on the safe side. But staying away from drinks can be easy as hell compared to walking into one of those meetings by yourself. I’ll go with you as a friend. Just someone to hold your hand so you’ll know you’re not going into it alone. Have you had any drinks since you asked me for help?”

She thought about lying, but she knew the guilt would eat away at her if she started this friendship with a lie. “Yeah. I haven’t gotten blackout drunk, but there was beer in my fridge and I gave in to the temptation.”

“I knew you did. Hell, I drank for the first six months of AA. Felt like shit every time. Lied about it, too. I’m glad you told me the truth.”

“Doesn’t make me feel less shitty about it.”

Jessie chuckled. “Don’t worry. Pretty soon you’ll get past that shitty feeling and you’ll replace it with pride.” She twisted to look at her desk, then stretched across it so she could open the top drawer. The position caused her shirt to ride up over her flat stomach, showing off the athletic curve of her hip, and Tracy was glad she hadn’t elected to be her sponsor. Jessie found what she was looking for and sat up with a chip held between two fingers.

“Three-year chip.”

“I thought you said you stopped drinking five years ago.”

Jessie shrugged. “We all fall off the wagon from time to time. The important thing is getting back on.” She held the chip out, and Tracy took it. She ran her thumb over the triangle and the words carved into the surface. “I’m here whenever you want to talk about what’s going on, or if you need someone to talk you away from a bar.”

Tracy said, “But you _own_ a bar. Who are you, Sam Malone?”

Jessie laughed. “I like the temptation. I like walking past all those bottles and knowing I have the strength to not open any. Of course, I don’t go in there and stare at them, and I leave most of the ordering up to Eliot. I let alcohol have strength over me for way too long. I’m not about to let it compromise my business. Having it here, earning money for me... that’s part of how I win the battle every day.”

“Makes it easy to lose, too.”

“Sure. But if I fail, I know I’ll have someone there to catch me.” She held out her hand and Tracy gave the medallion back. “The next meeting is Thursday at five-thirty. If you want me to be there, just say the word. I’ll even pick you up, drive you over if you want.”

“No. It’s just a block away from my apartment. I can get there myself. I need to get there myself.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“But I’d like you to be there.”

Jessie nodded. “As you wish.”

Tracy stood up, but Jessie stopped her from leaving.

“You were really an astronaut?”

“Yeah. STS-219. Tracy Finch. Look me up.”

“I will.”

#

The room was cozy, and the library had removed the tables to make room for a dozen of the folding chairs Tracy had dreaded seeing. Jessie was waiting for her in the atrium and she smiled when Tracy walked in. “I remember you.”

Tracy took off her sunglasses so her eyes could adjust. “From a few days ago, you mean?”

“No, on the news. You were the bald astronaut lady. The hot bald astronaut lady. I saw the picture and couldn’t believe I’d forgotten all about you.”

“You remember Lisa Nowak?”

Jessie thought for a moment and then shook her head. “Name kind of rings a bell, but not really. What did she do?”

“She drove from Houston to Florida in a diaper, allegedly, and tried to kidnap a lady who was involved with her boyfriend. If you can forget that...”

Jessie laughed. “I guess so. You looked sexy bald, but you’re not too bad with hair.”

“Good to know.” She looked into Meeting Room 1. A few people were already seated, and one man was tidying up a stack of papers on the front table. “So I guess this is where it happens.”

“Yep.”

“I don’t know if I’m relieved or concerned that it’s not taking place in a church basement. I’m not sure I can throw in with all the ‘higher power’ talk. Not a big church-goer.”

Jessie said, “The higher power doesn’t have to be upper-case G-o-d. It can be anything you hold in esteem, anything you see as bigger than yourself.”

A Native American woman came to the door and smiled at them. “Jessie?”

“Sara. This is the woman I wanted you to meet. Sara, this is Tracy. Tracy, meet Sara.”

Sara offered her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. Jessie said that you might be in the market for a sponsor. We could get together after the meeting and talk if you want. See if we’re compatible.”

“I’m worried we might have too much in common.”

Sara smiled. “Relax, I like older women. That’s why I’ve been with one for three years.”

Tracy nodded. “Okay.” She looked into the room, took a deep breath, and nodded again. “Okay.”

They went into the room, and a few minutes later the person in charge closed the door. He was an older man with thinning white hair, and he smiled as he took his position in the front of the room. “Hello, everyone. Welcome, and welcome back. I’m Robert, and I’m an alcoholic.” They greeted him, and he read the Preamble. Tracy sat uncomfortably in the back row with Jessie, Sara sitting in front of her, and she kept her hands flat on her knees as she listened. When Robert finished, he said, “Is there anyone here for the first time? We’d like to welcome you now.”

Tracy would have balked if he stared directly at her, but he let his gaze wander neutrally around the room. She lifted her hand and he smiled at her. “Please.”

She stood up. “Hi. I’m... Tracy.”

“Hi, Tracy.”

She heard Jessie and Sara both say it, and she felt oddly bolstered by their voices in the chorus. “I’m not sure what I should say here. I’ve been drinking since before I was legally able to. I didn’t see anything wrong with it because I just did it to be sociable or whatever. Everyone has a drink now and then, right? But lately it’s really gotten... I used to drink while I was doing other things, now I’m drinking instead of doing those things. There was someone special to me, and I lost her, and it was easier to dull things by drinking than actually dealing with the hurt.” She saw Sara turn away and wondered if she had struck a nerve. “Anyway. That’s who I am and what I’m doing here. Thanks.”

“Thank you, Tracy, and welcome to our group,” Robert said, and the rest of the group echoed him as she sat down.

Tracy leaned over to Sara. “You said just showing up was the hardest part, right?”

Jessie chuckled. “Yeah. But that was a lie to get you in the room.”

Tracy laughed and put her hand on Jessie’s knee. Jessie covered the hand with hers, and Tracy looked down at it. She turned her wrist and pressed their palms together. The meeting continued around them, but Tracy felt herself relaxing. She felt normalcy returning, and she settled against the rigid back of her seat as she looked up to give her attention to the next speaker.

For the first time she felt like she would make it.


	9. Epilogue

It was dark out when they left, and cold enough that their breath plumed in front of them until the car warmed up sufficiently. Jessie didn’t bother to wear her contacts on their excursion, opting instead for a pair of bulky black-rimmed glasses. Tracy had recently gotten another haircut, the shortest it had ever been since growing it out after coming back to Earth. The sun was just cresting the horizon and wiping away the night when Tracy drove them to the harbor and walked down the wooden dock. Jessie had been to her new houseboat for dinner a few times since she bought it, but today was more than a simple date. She helped Jessie aboard, pushed away from the slip, and guided them out of the harbor to the open water between Squire’s Isle and its closest neighbor.

She had gotten the boat not long after joining AA, and every night the currents rocked her to sleep. She couldn’t imagine falling asleep in the noise and stillness of Seattle, so she abandoned that apartment and made Squire’s Isle her permanent residence. Her decision was only partly due to the fact Jessie lived there. They weren’t officially a couple, since Sara and her partner Vanessa both opined that starting a relationship at the same time as working the steps of AA was fraught with landmines. Tracy agreed, but she and Jessie were trying to be reasonable about it. They weren’t dating, but Jessie would join her whenever she had dinner at the Old Harbor, and occasionally they went on bike rides around the island. Tracy was so accustomed to one-night stands that she’d almost forgotten what it was like to slowly fall in love with someone. 

It had rained the night before and the air was still lively with the scent of it. It was cool enough that Tracy went inside to get a sweater for Jessie, draping it over her shoulders from behind. Jessie leaned back against her, a few inches taller and therefore unable to rest her head against Tracy’s shoulders. Tracy looped her arms around Jessie’s waist and kissed her neck.

They drifted for a while before they dropped anchor, and the sun was firmly established in the sky by the time they finally came to a stop. 

“You said I had to choose my own higher power, something bigger than me that I could put my faith in. I realized I already had it. I spent my youth underwater, and I spent my adult life getting up there.” She looked at the sky. “I never had a chance to learn how to breathe out here in the open air. I never got comfortable on solid ground. I’m only anchored when I’m adrift. I think that’s what I was looking for with my drinking. I just wanted to keep floating and keep flying and... I couldn’t just stand on my own two feet.” She reached into her pocket and took out her six-month chip. “This is as much yours as it is mine. Thank you, Jessie.”

Jessie said, “It was all you, Tracy.”

They came together and kissed. Tracy put her hands in the thick blonde curls of her girlfriend’s hair, and Jessie stroked her back through the double layers she wore.

“I brought you out here because of Step Nine.”

Jessie narrowed her eyes. “How have you wronged me?”

“I haven’t. Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll get around to it one of these days if you stick around. No. The thing that made me leave NASA. I had an affair with my commander’s wife. After it ended, I refused to let go. I had fallen for her, but she wanted nothing to do with me and I... couldn’t... accept it. So I harassed her and hounded her. I refused to accept her decision. I finally got in touch with her through another team member and I apologized. I took responsibility for what I’d done to that family. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, Jess. But I did it. I made my amends with her, and I can’t tell you how amazing it feels. How free it feels.”

Jessie smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you for seeing me in that huddled lump of nothing who attacked your jukebox.”

“I didn’t see a huddled lump of nothing. I saw myself. Now I see someone I feel really lucky to know. I’m glad I saved you.”

They kissed again. When they parted Tracy spread out a blanket on the dock of her boat, and Jessie stretched out on her back. Tracy lay next to her and they looked up at the sky together.

“I still can’t believe you were up there.”

“Up there is easy. They train you for a year, and then everyone has their specialties and their jobs. Everyone knows one false step could mean catastrophe so everyone is on the ball, all the time, always. Same with dives. If you mess up, it could mean everyone dies. In between, though, it’s a lot different. There’s so much room for error that it’s so damn hard to tell when you’re veering off on the wrong course.” She took Jessie’s hand. “Thanks for helping me get back on the path.”

“How else would I have found you?”

Tracy smiled and linked their fingers together. “I love you, Jessica.”

“I love you, too.”

It was the first time they’d said it to each other, and Tracy brought Jessie’s hand up to kiss her knuckles. She wanted to say more, but she had a feeling she would just be repeating herself. So she let their joined hands rest on her stomach, and together they rode the crest of the waves, as weightless as they could be while still in the atmosphere, and looked up into the new morning’s light.


End file.
